


Clipped Wings

by You_will_always_end_up_here



Series: Clipped Wings 'verse [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Wings, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4452305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_will_always_end_up_here/pseuds/You_will_always_end_up_here
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wing!au for gravity falls. "When twins Dipper and Mabel lose their parents to a car accident, they are placed with the last relative still around on their father's side: their Great Uncle Stan"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crashing Down

 

Dipper Pines had had a fairly nice existence. He and his twin sister lived in a modest but comfortable house with their loving parents. The California sun generally agreed with him, school was okay, and he was looking forward to soaring over the beaches in the next few years.

But then the Accident happened.

 

Dipper and Mabel were hauled out of class, hesitantly told by their principal that some “officers need to talk to you about something”, and then informed of what happened.

 

Their parents had died. In a car accident.

 

It didn't feel real.

 

Mabel's brightly colored wings drooped, and she was strangely quiet; before almost launching at one of the officers. Dipper managed to grab her, though he was still numb

 

“YOU'RE LYING!” Mabel screeched, “THEY AREN'T DEAD! THEY WOULDN'T DIE IN A STUPID CAR CRASH! YOU'RE LYING! You're...you're lying...” she broke off sobbing.

 

 

The next week was a blur. Mabel spent the majority of it crying, hiding from the relatives swarming over their house, and refusing to be any sort of distance from Dipper. Mostly she was knitting. God only knew what. Dipper was fairly sure it had started out as a sweater, but Mabel refused to finish it.

 

Dipper was...Dipper was still numb. It didn't feel real. One of these afternoons, their parents would walk back through the door, their mother smiling brightly, their father shaking out his hawk-like wings and somehow maneuvering to give the whole family a hug with those wings. Dipper would feel safe again. Mabel would smile again.

 

Those wings that Dad had always said could protect them from danger.

 

But the logical part of his mind knew they wouldn't. Knew the date of the funeral. Knew the street on which the Accident had occurred.

 

He still stared at the door a little too often.

 

Their aunts and uncles and grandparents packed up the house, occasionally tearing up. They invited the twins to help, but neither was too keen on the idea. Most of what was in the house was packed for storage. Dipper grabbed his father's leather jacket. Mabel squirreled away the necklace their mother wore all the time; supposedly it once belonged to their father's mother.

 

“Dipper?” Mabel asked quietly one day. “What's going to happen to us?”

 

Dipper didn't know how to answer that. He'd researched it(that's what he did when he was upset. Researched. Know the problem, know the variables, solve it, fix what was wrong--) and kids like he and Mabel were usually placed with winged relatives.

There was one problem. Their dad's side of the family is where that came from. They'd never known their grandma, and their dad never even _talked_ about his dad. Dipper had vague memories of some winged relative on his dad's side. An uncle maybe? 

“I don't, Mabel. I just don't know.”

 

Dad was supposed to teach them how to fly this summer.

 

Now everything was crashing down.

 

 

The answer came after the funeral.

 

Dipper hadn't wanted to go. Nor had Mabel. It was too final. Too much confirmation that their parents would never come home again.

 

But their grandmother cajoled them into it.

 

After all was said and done, the twins found a corner away from everyone, just to have some quiet. A little peace.

 

Until their grandmother reappeared, steering an older man toward their corner.

 

Dipper looked at him with suspicious eyes. The man had large greyish wings that had seen better days—Dipper may be self conscious of the down remaining in his wings, but the state of these wings made the boy feel infinitely better. Ragged was the only word to use—some feathers looked just about ready to give up and fall out.

Looking at the man's eyes, Dipper could tell he was grief stricken—and not just in the polite “I know how you feel” way that had become so common to see in the last week. He must have known Dipper and Mabel's parents.

 

Their grandmother spoke softly, “Dipper? Mabel? This is your great uncle Stanford—your father's uncle.”

 

Mabel finally spoke up, “Grunkle Stan? I..I remember you. You visited once.”

 

“Er...Yeah,” was Stan's oh-so eloquent answer.

 

Their grandmother frowned briefly before her features softened again, “Stan here is going to take care of you two.”

 

“You mean...We're going to live with you?” Dipper questioned.

 

Stan made a nervous movement with his hands, “Yeah, uh, that's what's been decided. Since I'm the only family left on your dad's side of the family.” He cleared his throat and looked down.

 

Mabel gently lays a hand on Dipper's shoulder, nodding slightly. That's good enough for him. Mabel's always been an uncannily good judge of character.

 

Dipper just kind of nodded solemnly.

 


	2. Flight; or not

 

As it turned out, they had to go to Oregon by car. A car that had seen better days. Dipper and Mabel exchanged an uneasy look, bumped wings and climbed into the back seat. Stan mumbled something about flying “not agreeing with him” when questioned about the mode of transport.

One thing the kids were thankful for was that the car was one of those big old ones that (children at least) could relax their wings in a little.

Stan was not so lucky. His already battered looking wings were rubbing on the roof and shedding feathers on the front and back seats.

His right wing, at least, could relax slightly across the passenger seat; but this was still probably a two day trip(where would they overnight? Medford? He'd done the drive in a day on the way down). In his younger years it would have been a half day, tops. But he was older, and had grieving children in tow. A mad dash across state lines was probably not going to happen.

So far he'd been burying his grief, under alternating layers of duty, denial, and out right stubbornness. Estranged(slightly) uncles weren't supposed to be as deeply effected as he was. He was doing what he did best: lying his ass off.

 

“Grunkle Stan, can we stop soon?” Mabel piped up from the back seat.

 

Shifting his wing out of the way, Stan glanced back, “Sure kid, waddya need?”

 

“Food,” Mabel chirped.

 

Dipper glanced at his watch, “Yeah, we've been on the road for four hours.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” Stan replied, taking the next exit. Some place named “Weed”. In northern California. Who'd have thought?

 

He found a McDonald's and they ate their cheap burgers in relative silence.

 

“So...you kids have any hobbies?” _Wow Stan, way to be social._

 

The twins held a brief, silent, conversation before Dipper spoke up, “Well, uh, Mabel knits and does crafts, and I write. Sometimes.”

 

“That's... uh, that's neat,” Stan offered lamely before the table relapsed into silence.

 

The kids picked at their meals, but convinced each other to eat an amount that Stan deemed a close cousin to healthy, so he didn't intervene.

 

Climbing back in the car, they continued to make their way up the I-5, crossing into Oregon almost an hour later. Thanks to various stops(bathroom, bathroom, carsick child, dinner—in that order), they reached Eugene sometime after nightfall. The kids had fallen asleep leaning on each other, wings held protectively in reflex. Stan glanced in the rear view mirror and sighed, recalling his own childhood. There was only a couple more hours before they got to Gravity Falls, but quite frankly, his eyes weren't what they used to be. That meant “ a couple hours” had another hour tacked on for slower, more careful driving.

 

Eventually pulling up in front of the Mystery Shack sometime around midnight, Stan opened the back door of the car. “C'mon kids. Kids?” he prompted, but they were sound asleep.

 

_My back is gonna hate me tomorrow,_ he thought, somehow managing to scoop up one kid in each arm.

 

The front door was an adventure, the stairs were a nightmare, and the hastily tidied attic was painful; but the twins remained asleep(here's to small miracles) and the back pain Stan knew he was due had yet to make it's appearance. He knew it was going to be a bitch in the morning, but that's what Advil was made for.

 

Brushing the hidden wards as he left the room, Stan checked that the kids would be sleeping safely. Satisfied that nothing would be crawling through the window in the night, he headed to bed himself; promising to just take everything a day at a time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short update, but I'm coming out of a heat wave induced funk. Things should pick up in the next chapter or two


	3. Burritos or Waffles?

 

Dipper woke up slowly at first, then panicked the rest of the way to wakefulness when he realized he wasn't in the car anymore and Mabel wasn't next to him. Spotting Mabel across the room, still asleep, allowed him to stifle his panic. Gauging his surroundings, Dipper noted that they appeared to be in the attic of wherever they were(hadn't Stan mentioned he ran some sort of tourist trap thing? Mystery something or other?). Padding over to Mabel's side, he whispered, “Mabel, hey--” but was surprised as his sister shot up out of bed.

 

“Dipper! Di--” she took a few breaths, looking around, “oh...that was only a dream....”

 

Dipper stayed carefully quiet. Mabel had been dreaming that their parents weren't dead since the news had been broken to them.

 

“Where _are_ we?” Mabel asked.

 

“Pretty sure we're wherever Stan was heading,” Dipper replied glancing around the still somewhat cluttered room.

 

“Explore?” Mabel elbowed Dipper gently.

 

“Explore.” Dipper echoed, summoning something of a smile.

 

 

 

Meanwhile Stan was discovering that he was right about his back hating him. Thankfully, he'd gotten in the habit of keeping Advil nearby. Glancing at the clock, he groaned. Breakfast. Damn it. There wasn't anything in the fridge. Maybe there were some of those frozen burritos left?

Hauling himself out of bed, he tentatively stretched out his wings, trying to shake out the pins and needles. God only knew why, but he had rolled onto them in the night, and so both had been varying degrees of painful and tingly.

Absentmindedly plucking a few darker feathers that were trying to make themselves known, Stan made his way downstairs to hopefully find something that would pass as “breakfast”.

 

Arriving in the kitchen, he saw that the twins were already there; currently staring at the demonstration of evolution in the sink. “I'll, uh, clean those after breakfast.” Doing dishes hadn't been high on his priorities before leaving.

It kind of hit him then, how little CPS had bothered vetting him. On the one hand, it suited him just fine; but the lack of attention shown to the kids welfare just made his feathers stand on end. Beyond a cursory “Oh, you're the last relative who's like them”, there was nothing.

Calming his thoughts, Stan dug through the freezer, “Alright—burritos or waffles?”

 

The kids just shrugged.

 

“Come on, kids, ya gotta eat something,” he sighed.

 

He was met with grumbling and half hearted replies.

 

“Burritos it is,” he decided, throwing a few in the microwave.

 

They all sat at the table is relative silence while the microwave worked in the background. Stan dearly hoped silent, awkward meals wouldn't be a permanent fixture.

 

The microwave beeped, signaling that 'breakfast' was ready. Crossing the room to fetch the food, Stan made a decision he knew he could very well regret.

 

After serving the kids a couple of burritos each, he sat down. Taking a deep breath, he started haltingly, “I know it's not easy, but ya gotta keep living.”

 

Mabel looked up at him with big eyes, too sad for any twelve year old, while Dipper glared.

 

“I...about thirty years ago I lost my brother,” Stan said.

 

“Our grandfather?” Dipper questioned.

 

“Er, yeah,” _yes, definitely regretting this_. “See, your grandfather made some mistakes--” _understatement_ “--that eventually caught up to him. The last time I saw my brother, we were fighting and...and, well, there was an accident. Slippery roads, old car, short temper--” he paused. Part lie, part truth. Was it so bad if he was imparting a life lesson? “I didn't leave the house for ages, barely ate, didn't sleep. Until I realized, it wasn't doing my brother any good. No amount of self destruction was gonna bring him back. Ya gotta remember that. ”

 

Yeah, this was definitely gonna bite him squarely in the ass.

 

“The point I'm trying to make, is you've got your whole lives in front of ya. You both are gonna go do amazing things and make your parents proud—that's how you keep their memories alive, living the best you can.” He faltered. “I'm rambling, but...just don't let grief win, ok?”

 

Dipper and Mabel nodded warily, not quite sure what to make of that rambling little speech.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know what's going on with this chapter, but I wanted to get the update out before I got super busy. Reviews are welcome and kind of needed now that I am squarely in 'I don't know what I'm doing' territory


	4. Of Journals and Mysteries

 

After breakfast, Stan gave the kids a tour of the house; which turned out to partially double as a tourist trap “The Mystery Shack”. It paid the bills well enough, Stan was quick to say in response to Dipper's skeptical looks at the so-called exhibits.

 

“And it'll be re-opening tomorrow,” Stan announced. “Because of those bills.”

 

Dipper leaned closer to examine something obviously held together by glue, “Who pays to see this stuff anyways?”

 

Stan laughed, “Gullible tourists, kid. For two reasons; Oregon is renowned for weirdness, and if there's one thing I'm good at, it's spinning a story.”

 

“Grunkle Stan? Do you make all of these?” Mabel asked, poking a jar full of eyes.

 

“Most of 'em,” Stan replied.

 

Mabel nodded, and Stan could have sworn he heard he mutter 'needs more glitter'.

 

“Anyways, there's a bunch of 'grand re-opening' signs that have to be put up,” he said, retrieving some cheaply made signs from behind the register. “Think you can do that while I get all this set up?”

 

“Uh...” Dipper wasn't sure that was a good idea.

 

“Sure!” Mabel had made a decision. “C'mon, Dipping sauce!”

 

As Mabel grabbed the signs from him, as well as a hammer and nails, Stan added, “Just make sure they can be seen from the roads! And watch out for..er...bears!”

 

Once outside, Mabel turned to Dipper, “Do you really want to stay inside all day? Cooped up?”

 

“Yes,” her twin deadpanned. “Like Stan said; there's bears.”

 

“Boo,” Mabel replied. “Catch me if you can!” She shouted before taking off at a dead sprint.

 

Dipper sighed, before running after his sister. She wasn't doing...well...with the whole situation, he could tell. She was normally cheery, but this was too much. Or maybe she took Stan's words to heart? No, Dipper refused to be that optimistic.

 

“Mabel, just hand me the hammer and some signs,” he panted, finally catching up with her.

 

Obliging, Mabel said, “Alrighty, brobro.” And with that, she started to investigate the miniature ecosystem that was a nearby rotting log.

 

Dipper sighed, and started putting up signs, not really heeding where the road was. His negligence was pardonable considering the busy nature of his thoughts; worry for Mabel, perplexed about Stan, and buried under it all his own grief. He was startled from those tumultuous thoughts by the nail in his hand striking metal rather than the wood he expected.

 

“What the--” Dipper muttered, feeling for what could have made that noise. Finding a hidden panel in the tree, he revealed a control box of some sort. Definitely worse for the wear, he decided, fiddling with various switches. “Broken then--” he was interrupted as the last switch triggered something behind him. A trap door sort of thing pulled back, into the earth, revealing a dusty, much abused book.

 

Flipping it open, Dipper noted that the 'property of' inscription inside the cover had been ripped in half at some point. The first page read:

 

_It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began researching the strange and won'drous secrets of Gravity Falls, Oregon._

_In all my travels, never have I observed so many curious things! Gravity Falls is indeed a geographical o_ _ddity._ _The sheer magic in the air could amaze even the most casual of eyes._

  


Dipper flipped through the pages, each one a differing subject of strangeness; from gnomes to warding techniques(okay, that last one, he had heard of—but no one in Piedmont believed that it worked. Other than 'those crazy people down the street'). He eventually halted on a page that had liberal amounts of ink spattered on it, with a messily scrawled “Trust No One!” at the bottom.

“What _is_ all of this?” he muttered.

  


“What's all of what?” Mabel asked, startling a (very deep and manly, he assures you) scream from Dipper.

“Nothing! Nothing,” he responded reflexively, trying to hide the book behind his back.

Mabel rolled her eyes, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Dipper glanced around, “Er. Yeah, just...not here.”

  


Racing back to the shack after hastily hanging up the remaining sign, the twins crashed through the front door toward the stairs.

“Woah, what's with you two?” Stan questioned, leaning out of their way. “Did ya hang up those signs?”

“Yeah!” Dipper said, not answering the first question.

 

Once they were safely ensconced in the attic, Dipper flipped open the book, showing Mabel all the fantastic subjects within. “What if that stuff we always heard about was real?”

Mabel peered closely at the book, “Are there unicorns?”

“I--...don't know,” Dipper admitted. He'd barely skimmed half the pages. “But there might be!” he added, trying to grin. Mabel always loved stuff like unicorns and faeries and dragons. Dipper just liked a good mystery; which this book definitely was, he noted, finding that the pages suddenly stopped eventually. “Mabel, Mabel look at this—the pages get really messy then just suddenly stop!”

Mabel leaned closer, “Wow, whoever wrote this got really paranoid. 'Trust no one in Gravity Falls', 'Beware of HIM'”

“Yeah...” Dipper agreed absentmindedly, thumbing through the pages yet again. As he did so, something fell from the journal and drifted gently to the ground. Mabel stooped to pick up whatever it was. “Dipper look.” There, sitting in Mabel's palm, was a single snowy feather. “D'you think it's from whoever wrote this?”

“Either that or its from someone he cared a lot about,” Dipper replied, looking for any faint speckling or stripes on the feather. No luck though. It was a perfect snowy white.

Mabel and Dipper shared a momentary silence, thinking of the one feather they each had from their father's wings. Usually, when someone had a feather from a loved one it was a memento kept after losing them. Mabel kept hers in a scrap book, next to a picture of their family smiling together in ugly Christmas sweaters.

Their melancholy thoughts were interrupted by Grunkle Stan's gruff yell of “KIDS, WAFFLES FOR LUNCH.”

Shuffling down the stairs, Dipper tucked the journal into his vest, the warning within echoing in his thoughts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever and I still don't like how it flows(or rather, doesn't), but it's here at least


	5. Settling in

  
  


The next week involved Stan learning, or sometimes relearning, quite a lot. For example; what a healthy diet for children was. Dipper(Stan was surprised to find) was rather helpful as far as this was concerned. The kid was obsessed with making use of his 'full height potential', and had researched everything months ago. All Stan had to do was drive to the supermarket and manage budget control(“I don't care if it's whole grain—it's wholly too expensive!”). Thankfully, neither of the kids were terribly picky—and were actually starting to have something resembling a healthy appetite.

Mabel had taken to 'helping' with the attractions around the Shack. Most of it was too cutesy for the theme, but Stan was happy she'd found something to keep her busy. There was also no denying the raw skill Mabel had.

Both the kids were settling in; perhaps not completely content, but finding a routine at least. They seemed to get along just fine with his only two employees(he was currently turning a blind-eye to all the not-work happening on paid time). He was still waiting for the storm to break, so to speak; but at the moment everything was calm.

“Er....Grunkle Stan?” Dipper asked. A little too quietly. That never boded well, no matter who was asking.

“Whaddya need?” Stan replied, trying to look unconcerned while counting that day's profits.

“Is...Is any of this real? The paranormal?” Dipper elaborated, gesturing to the Shack's exhibits.

“Ha! Don't worry about that,” he laughed. “All this malarkey is made up by guys like me to sell merch to the gullible.” _Some 'news story' must be making the rounds again._ “What makes you so curious?”

“I've seen some....really odd things in the woods lately,” Dipper replied hesitantly. _Like the gnomes that tried to carry off my sister._

“Eh, don't worry about it—there's lots of pranksters in town. Just teenagers messing with people,” Stan said gruffly. _Don't investigate it. Don't investigate it. For the love of my sanity--_

Dipper sighed “Alright...” and walked away dejectedly; but not before Stan heard a muttered “No one ever believes me but Mabel.”

Stan frowned. _It's for the best,_ he assured himself.

 

 

 

 

“Mabel, why don't people believe me?” Dipper asked grumpily.

 

Mabel replied, “Mayyyybe 'cause you're twelve? It's a stupid reason, but--” she shrugged.

 

They were both sitting on the back porch of the shack, watching as the sun crept behind the trees, painting the Oregon sky in hues of orange and purple.

 

“We should have kept one of those gnomes in a cage or something,” Dipper said.

 

Mabel made a face, “I want those little creeps _far_ away from me bro-bro.” She shook her head, “Nah, we'll find something cooler for you to prove you're right with.” She grinned mischievously, “Maybe even a--”

 

“Don't you say it--!” Dipper exlaimed.

 

“--UNICORN!” Mabel shouted her twin down.

 

“Oh, now you've done it Mabes!” Dipper yelled, making a wild grab for Mabel's sweater.

 

Mabel laughed, dodging her sibling, “Catch me if you can!”

 

Thus began an impromptu round of tag.

 

 

 

Hearing some sort of ruckus, Stan made his way to the back door. Stopping short of interrupting the twins when he saw that they were just playing tag. For a time he watched them play, reminded of simpler times. Turning away, he was going to finish what he had been doing when he heard Dipper yell, “MABEL NO!”

Looking back, he saw that Mabel had somehow made it up a tree, and was about to launch herself out of the branches.

 

She was too far up, and too young to fly.

 

As she launched herself from the branch, Stan was out the door at a dead run, trying to get enough lift to catch her. His tattered wings beating near uselessly, he cursed the cards life had dealt him.

 

He barely made it, his wings failing him. With the added weight, he had no choice but to do his best to shield Mabel as they both came back down to earth forcefully.

 

 

The ground was unforgiving, but Stan didn't hear or feel anything break. He counted his blessings for that, at least.

 

“MABEL?!” Dipper's panicked voice rang through the clearing.

 

Stan got up slowly. _Yup, everything hurts._ “Mabel, you okay, sweetie?”

 

Mabel nodded slowly. “Y-yeah...I...I thought I could fly,” She said hesitantly. Adding, “I...I'm sorry Grunkle Stan” when she saw him wince.

 

“Eh, I'll heal. Just be careful, okay?” Stan said carefully, seeing just how close to crying she was. “And try strengthening your flight muscles before flying.”

 

Dipper, however, was beside himself, “You—You could have maimed a wing! You could have broken something!”

 

“I know it was silly!” Mabel snapped. “I just...I...” she fell silent awkwardly. “I'm sorry.”

 

“Mabel,” Dipper said quietly, “Just...be careful like Grunkle Stan said.”

 

“Awkward sibling hug?” Mabel suggested.

 

“Awkward sibling hug,” Dipper agreed.

 

After the twins had hugged, Stan decided to interrupt, “Alright, if that's all settled, who wants to help make dinner?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of got away from me, but that's what I get for writing at five am


	6. So what?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some events are out of sequence to canon.

 

As summer wore on, Stan made various attempts at 'family bonding'. Fishing had started out as a flop, but turned out all right(ignoring the part where they ran afoul of local law enforcement—but no one is perfect, right?). Dipper and Mabel seemed to have made friends around town, between Wendy's group and Grenda and Candy. Other than the incident with that Gideon creep, the kids were getting along with everyone they'd be going to school with in the fall.

The most eventful things had been this week was when Soos rediscovered the room he locked those wax figures in. He had been pretty sure they were cursed, but could he come out and say that? No. So he had 'forgotten' about them. But Mabel had wanted to make one, and though he'd never admit it, Stan was a sucker for the puppy eyes.

Plus, what sort of cursed wax figure lets itself melt? He'd been wrong about them, and now Mabel had a new project she was enjoying.

“Kids, have you seen my--?” He was about to ask where his shoes had gotten to. The words died in his mouth. It couldn't be, he scrambled backwards. Right down to the wings---

Wait, wait, glitter--?

 

Mabel bounced over, asking “Whaddya think, Grunkle Stan?”

 

Calming down, Stan said, “I think..the wax museum's back in business!”

 

Yeah, that settled it, Mabel had plenty of artistic talent. She'd almost given him a heart attack.

 

The reopening was somewhat of a win. There was a tepid response from attendees, but it made a decent amount without tours having to be given.

 

And so what if he was overly attached to the wax likeness of himself? He was allowed to be a little sentimental.

 

It was all going just fine until he left to use the john.

 

Upon returning, he found the wax figure beheaded. Good god, that dredged up ghosts of nightmares past.

The police were no help(no surprises there), and refused to investigate the vandalism. Dipper and Mabel volunteered to independently bring the 'murderer' to justice.

 

So Stan decided to have a funeral for Wax Stan. So what. It was healthy, when grieving, to have closure to move on.

 

So maybe he had some unresolved issues.

 

So what.

 

 

 

The kids were running around town 'questioning suspects', apparently. Stan had had a few phone calls complaining; but honestly, what harm were they doing? They were kids. He and F--...He'd gotten up to worse at their age.

 

By the evening, he'd set up the funeral, and the kids were back; feeling down that they hadn't caught the 'murderer'. Starin' at him like he was weird. Soos was on board with the whole thing. Which in and of itself was kinda weird.

The whole thing was kinda weird, if Stan was honest with himself.

 

He gave the eulogy, of course, like he had done at his own funeral. Except this time he didn't make it through the entire thing. Practically fleeing when he felt tears begin.

 

He only slowed down once he was outside.

 

It had been thirty years. Thirty years. He'd tried to get that damned machine working again. Was it actually time to let go? He sighed. He knew he wouldn't. He'd tried before. But he always ended up back in the basement.

 

“Mr. Pines!” Soos was calling him now.

 

“I'm over here Soos, just a piece of dirt or something in my eye,” he lied. Time to go back and face his issues.

 

 

Returning to the parlor, he found the kids throwing something into the fire. “What the f— _heck_ happened here?!”

 

“The wax figures turned out to be evil, so we fought them to the death!” Mabel said cheerfully.

 

“I decapitated Larry King,” Dipper added.

 

Huh, so they had been cursed. “You kids and your imaginations!”

 

“Aaaand look what we found,” Dipper handed him Wax Stan's missing head.

 

He smiled, “Ya done good kids, ya done good.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned really Stan-centric and I don't entirely know why


	7. Children shouldn't play with dead languages

Initially, Stan had to admit, he'd panicked about being made legal guardian of two children. Him? Care for children? But since it was either him or the system( _no way in hell_ ), here he was.

 

Having some overly greasy diner food and smiling, gently teasing Dipper while Mabel laughed.

~ ~~~~~~

 

Dipper was nearing boiling point as Mabel continued to poke fun at him, now joined by Stan. He knew he was twelve, but this was when one started getting chest hair, right? When a boy started becoming a man.

That manliness tester was rigged. Or something.

 

_And so what if he'd tripped over one of his over-sized wings yesterday??_

 

Bringing up the BABBA incident was the last straw, “I need to get some chest hair and fast.” With that, he ran out of the diner, tripping over a wing yet again.

 

Walking down one of the streets of Gravity Falls, Dipper was deep in thought. What possible solutions could there be? Was it dietary? Would exercise help? What possible short cuts--

 

The journal.

 

It had held answers to everything else he had needed recently. Maybe there was something in there? After all, what was the point of trying to protect Mabel if he didn't have the strength to back it up?

 

Quickly making his way to a more secluded spot in the woods, he flipped through the pages. Nothing. “Nothing?! No aging spell or something?” Dipper growled at the journal(well, he'd like to think it sounded like a growl). Sure, he'd found something about crystals that could make him taller, but what good was being a taller wimp?

Flipping through again, slightly more angrily, he spied a note in the margins of a page on warding, along with a note taped into the book:

 

_References to natural talent abound._

_No solid progress in this._

_Meditation? Inner power? Innt. Protectiv ablty?_

 

“Ha!” so maybe it wasn't something _exactly_ like what he wanted, but looking at the note, it was a branch of magic the author hadn't researched much besides reading about it. Supposedly it could grant the user “great power”. Part of the note seemed to be an abbreviated set of instructions.

 

Reading down the list of instructions, Dipper sighed yet again. It required at least two people. Great.

Wait, Mabel would help him. They always helped each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“MABEL!” Dipper shouted, bursting through the attic door.

 

“What up brobro?” Mabel asked, flopping over on her bed.

 

“Ireallyneedyoutohelpmewiththismagicspellthingitllbeawesomeipromiseandtotallynotdangerousintheleast,” Dipper said excitedly.

 

“Okay, all I got was 'magic' and 'probs not dangerous',” Mabel replied slowly.

 

Breathing hard, Dipper slowed down, “Help me learn magic, it'll be awesome.”

 

“WELL WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?” Mabel exclaimed, bouncing off of her bed.

 

“Here's the--” Dipper held out the scrap of instructions.

 

“AWESOME SPELL!” Mabel snatched the paper and read it. “Uh...this seems kinda boring brobro. I mean, 'meditate' and 'find an object close to your intentions'. What does that even mean?”

“I don't know, that's kinda why I need your help,” Dipper shrugged. “Also, definitely skipping the whole meditation thing. It can't be that important.”

 

“Soooo...skipping step one...” Mabel read down the list. “Uhhh....object close to your intentions. Whatever that means.”

 

“Intentions?” Dipper questioned. What were his intentions? Protect, obviously. Deal with anything that came his way, definitely. But what would be close to that? “Do we have a..shield, I guess?”

 

“Nope,” Mabel said, popping the 'p' sound. “That'd be awesome though.”

 

“Can I see the paper again?” Dipper asked, reaching over.

 

Mabel shrugged, “Sure brobro.”

 

Squinting at some of the scribbles to the side, Dipper found some translation notes. “Intentions...might also mean use or style?? That...doesn't really help.” Laying back on his bed, Dipper grumbled, “Stupid Author writing in stupid code with incomplete notes...”

 

“Style? Well, is “Nerd” a style?” Mabel laughed.

 

“Not. Helping.” Dipper groaned.

 

“Maybe you gotta use a wand!” Mabel suggested, brandishing a knitting needle.

 

Dipper sighed, “Pretty sure that's a no.” Looking at the paper again, he searched for other scribbled notes.

 

_Meditate til elemnt is found then prctce til proficent_

 

“'Meditate until element is found then—' there has _got_ to be more in the Journal,” Dipper complained.

 

“Toss it here, bro,” Mabel held out her hands for the Journal. Flipping to the right page, Mabel scanned the contents. “Here's something,” she waved her twin over.

 

Reading together, the twins chorused what appeared to be some gibberish. “Huh,” they said.

 

“Well, I'll work on decoding that tomor-or-row”, Dipper yawned through the words.

 

It was only as both twins unceremoniously passed out on the attic floor that either of them reassessed the decision to read mysterious words aloud from an equally mysterious book.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Life has been an adventure, and I've been side tracked by other projects.


	8. If you go down to the woods today...

Mabel first noticed a howling of wind. She became fully aware of everything when she got a face full of seawater. “Whaa??” She sat up, spitting out water. “Dipper?” She looked around for her twin, but only saw a raging maelstrom and the barren rock she sat upon, the rain keeping her range of vision to a minimum. “DIPPER?!” She shouted, trying to be heard over the storm, but the wind seemed to eat her words. “DIP--” she was halfway through his name when another of the fierce waves broke over the rock, causing her to cough and sputter. She just wanted to find her brother in this surreal landscape, was that too much?

Some of her hair flew into her mouth. That was it, the last straw.

“Stupid wind, stupid sea, stupid stuff that shouldn't exist,” Mabel muttered. “JUST STOP ALREADY”

 

Her voice echoed eerily. And everything did, in fact, stop. Not in the calm sea and sunny day way, however. The waves had frozen in front of her, ready to drench her yet again. The cloud remained as angry as before, with rain drops sitting in the air as though time had ceased to be a concern.

 

“Did...did I do that?” she scarcely whispered, spooked as her words echoed as loud as her shouting a moment ago.

 

_Yes, and remember--_

 

And with that, Mabel sat up and Awoke to the real world.

 

Meanwhile:

 

Dipper found himself on a bed of moss, not unlike what one would find in the woods surrounding the Mystery Shack.

“Mabel?” He called out softly, unsure of his surroundings. The last month had taught him caution if nothing else.

An oddly oppressive silence was his only answer.

 

Slightly spooked, Dipper slowly got to his feet and observed his surroundings. It was, basically, a typical old growth forest like the one surrounding Gravity Falls. But there was something... _off_. Maybe it was the light, and the way shadows conflicted with it. Perhaps it was the silence. But something set Dipper's teeth on edge about this place.

Walking through a gap in the trees, Dipper called out for his twin again, “Mabel, where are you?” Still keeping his voice hushed.

A sound, like whispering almost, startled him. Whirling, Dipper was now facing a cave. A cave he could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. Venturing into it, he called out again, “Mabel?” Hearing only his own echos come back to him, he kept walking. Somehow, this seemed to be the direction he should go in.

“Whoa!” Dipper tripped over something in the dark, crashing to the ground. “What the--” He picked up a small, black, polished stone. It really was far too small to have tripped him. Yet here he was.

“Stupid rock--” Dipper started to mutter angrily when he heard an ominous rumbling.

Scrambling backwards as stone crashed down in front of him, Dipper quickly found the back of the cave. It was a dead end.

With the smooth stone still clutched in his fist, Dipper pounded his fists against the (oddly uniform) wall of loose stone. Nothing moved.

“Okay...okay...I can find a way out of this,” Dipper took a deep breath, trying to _not_ panic. Turning the stone over in his hand, Dipper looked around. No exits. Right then.

Staring at some of the stones, Dipper searched for some obvious weakness. “Just _move_ ” he said in frustration.

To his surprise, one of the smaller stones fell to the cave floor. “Uh....Just move, _please?_ ”

 

A slightly larger stone fell to the ground.

 

Frowning slightly, Dipper stood up. _“Move,”_ he commanded.

 

Slowly at first, and then more readily, the stones blocking Dipper's way fell outward and away.

 

Shielding his eyes from the sudden brightness, Dipper exited the cave. “What was that, some cave of politeness?” he muttered.

 

_It was just you..._

 

Dipper woke up on the attic floor.

 

Still clutching the stone from his “dream”.

 

 

Before Dipper could really process what was going on (example: a rock from his dream still being in his hand), Mabel was wrapped around him in a stranglehold he was pretty sure was supposed to be a hug.

“DIPPER! I was on the ocean and it was storming but then it stopped and I woke up but you didn't and it's weird there was wind in the room and you kinda thrashed a little and I was scared but now you woke up and can we never read anything out of that journal ever again?” she said all at once, muffled slightly by her brother's shoulder and wing.

“Air! I need air!” Dipper gasped out.

Mabel released him.

“Thank you,” he said. “And we sure aren't reading anything out loud from it again. That was freaky.” He turned the stone over in his hand yet again.

Mabel shuddered, “No kidding.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short, but there's movies, family bonding, and fun ahead!


	9. Feathers are delicate things

A fairly peaceful week passed. In fact, one day Stan decided to actually make an effort with breakfast.

The pancakes were done, the bacon was in the microwave, and the coffee was brewing. All was well.

 

Until Stan heard a blood curdling scream of pain from upstairs.

 

Sprinting through the house(ignoring the fact that sprinting was a bad idea), his mind quickly ran though scenarios that ranged from bad to worse. One of the kids fell and broke a leg. Someone was running with scissors.

Something broke through the warding.

Bursting through the door to the attic, arms up for a fight and wings positioned threateningly, Stan Pines found--

Dipper and Mabel in the rafters; Dipper huddled in a corner whimpering and Mabel apologizing softly and profusely.

Relaxing slightly, Stan approached the twins. Looking around, he noticed a few feathers, and some specks of blood.  _Oh Jesus..._

 

He sighed, looking back up at the rafters. “What happened?” He had a pretty damn good guess.

 

Mabel answered, “I'm sorry Grunkle Stan! We started molting last week and we were doing okay taking care of our feathers and it was fine but today I messed up and broke one of the new feathers and, and, and, I'M SORRY.” By the time she finished speaking, she was crying almost as much as her injured twin.

 

“Alright, first things first,” Stan started. “Mabel sweetie, climb down from there. Dipper, I'll catch you if you just jump.” He held out his arms.  _This is probably a bad idea_.

 

Mabel slowly found her way down and stood near Stan. Dipper just shook his head, curling in on himself and trying not to move his wing.

 

“Kid, I know it hurts, but if you want it to stop hurting, you have to get down here somehow,” Stan coaxed. Geez, he hoped he was never this bad for Ma. Sure, wing injuries hurt, but c'mon.

 

Dipper looked down. It wasn't  _that_ far. Or maybe... “Can I, uh, just climb down, Grunkle Stan?”

 

“Whatever you want, kid,” Stan shrugged. Probably be better for his shoulder in the long run anyways.

 

After both the kids were safely out of the rafters, Stan ushered them down to the kitchen.

 

 

Having fetched the first aid kit, it didn't take Stan long to find the problem. Blood stained Dipper's grey feathers in one patch. Yup, it was a blood feather. This was  _not_ gonna be pretty. He sighed, “Kid, I'm not gonna lie, this is gonna hurt.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Mabel said yet again from the corner.

 

Stan looked over at her, “Don't beat yourself up about it. Can you do something for me?”

 

Mabel nodded slowly.

 

“Grab the pliers for me,” Stan gently extended the injured wing as Dipper whimpered again. As Mabel left the room he said, “At least you don't have to deal with it yourself kid. Trust me, that sucks.”

 

Dipper replied hesitantly, “Is—is that why your wings are like that?”

 

Stan was caught off guard. Most people just don't bring it up. “Uh, kinda. Let's just leave it at I've made lots of mistakes in life.”

 

“This is gonna hurt, isn't it?” Dipper asked.

 

“Like a B--...like you wouldn't believe. Not gonna lie to ya' about that,” Stan replied as Mabel returned with the pliers. “Mabel, I'm gonna need some warm rags next.”

 

Gently parting the feathers near the problem, Stan looked for the best angle. The remains of the feather were thankfully still protruding from the skin, but was definitely at a wrong angle. No wonder the kid was crying. Mabel quietly came up and offered the slightly damp wash cloths. “Just stand there sweetie, I'll need those in a moment.” Gently, but firmly, grasping the remains of the feather, Stan pulled it out.

Dipper legitimately screamed, understandably; but he held still.

“You're doin' good kid, it's almost over,” Stan said, trading out the pliers for one of the washcloths. As he applied pressure to stop the bleeding, Dipper thrashed, catching Stan across the face with his other wing.

Everyone froze for a split second after that. Dipper looking uncertainly over his shoulder. The only sound in the kitchen was Stan's glasses sliding across the floor(thankfully not broken).

Spitting out a feather, Stan broke the silence, saying, “I gotta teach ya' how to hit. I barely felt that.” And by all evidence, he hadn't. The washcloth was still firmly over the injury, and other than tilting his head, Stan hadn't moved.

Mabel giggled nervously.

Dipper said hesitantly, “Sorry Grunkle Stan”

“Like I said, there are boxing lessons comin' your way, kid,” Stan glanced at the clock, switching out the rag. “Every Pines should know how to give account of themselves.” Glancing at Mabel, he added, “You too sweetie. And while we're talkin' about lessons. How about what ya' learned today?”

Both children muttered awkwardly.

Stan shook his head. He'd pinch the bridge of his nose if he had a free hand. “Always,  _and I mean always_ , get help from someone when you're molting. You oughtta know that,” he said gruffly.

Mabel said quietly, “We—we just wanted to take care of it ourselves.”

“Since, y'know, it didn't look like you did much wing care,” Dipper finished awkwardly.

“Alright, lets clear this up once and for all,” Stan checked under the rag. Nope, few more minutes yet. “Once upon a time, my wings were my pride and joy and you better believe I know all about proper wing care. But I've made plenty of mistakes in my time and this--” he shifted a wing up “--is the price I pay.  _So take care of your wings_ ”

“Yes Grunkle Stan,” the twins chorused.

Checking under the rag once more, Stan was pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped. “Lemme put some disinfectant on it and you should be good to go, just try not to move it.”

“No kidding,” Dipper said darkly.

“And from now on both of you are going to sit in this kitchen after breakfast, sit still, and  _I'm_ gonna deal with any stray feathers until you finish molting,” Stan said sternly.

 

“Yes, Grunkle Stan,” they chorused again, even less enthusiastically.

 

"Now, eat your breakfast," he said gruffly. "I didn't slave in this kitchen for nothing"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My roommate insisted that this was finished last night. So here it is, second update in as many days. Cantica10, I hope you're happy


	10. Everyone's got a talent

 

The next morning, the kids obediently, albeit reluctantly, sat still while Stan cared for their wings. There was no more bleeding from Dipper's problem feather, and it looked like a new one was already starting to come in. Stan had been mildly worried about infection, but that seemed to be baseless.

“I was thinkin' we could close up shop early today and go see a movie or somethin',” Stan said.

“Close up shop?” Mabel asked.

“Early?” Dipper questioned further, putting down his bacon.

Stan shrugged, “Yeah, it's five dollar Monday. Only time of the week the theater doesn't want an arm and a leg for admission.”

“Do we get to choose the movie?” Dipper questioned.

Stan replied, “Only if you two work in the gift shop without complaining.”

“Deal!” Mabel said enthusiastically.

 

 

Dipper was assigned his _least_ favourite duty in the shop. “Restocker/janitor”. It was more cleaning than restocking merch, and just so happened to extend outside of the shack. Where ever the tourists went, so went Dipper, mop in hand.

 

So far there had been two soda spills, a stray cheeseburger, and two gummi candies on the ceiling(how does that even _happen_?). Dipper had just finished scraping the gummies off the ceiling, and was trying to relax by the register with Mabel(whose only assignment was to help with sales) and Wendy when Stan called Dipper to deal with the results of a carsick kid on the front lawn.

 

“I want that gone by the time the tour's done, kid,” Stan said in passing while the tourists filed into the shack.

 

Sighing, Dipper trudged over to the mess. “Urgh,” he recoiled a bit. How was he supposed to clean this up? Roll a boulder over it? Maybe use a hose on it? Did the shack even _have_ a hose? Soos, Mabel, and Wendy were all busy with their respective jobs, so no help could be found there.

Flipping the stone he had taken to carrying with him through his hand, Dipper began thinking out loud, “...there's no covering it up since it's on the grass, and even then you could probably still smell it.” To top it off, he couldn't complain—if he ruined his and Mabel's chances of choosing the movie, well, he didn't want to see his sister's disappointed look.

Glaring at the offending mess on the lawn, he finally grumbled, “Just _disappear_ already!”

 

The next moment, Dipper was backing away, because, well, it _did._

 

Or, more accurately, the patch of lawn parted, _swallowed_ it, and returned to it's usual flat state.

 

Dipper's eyes still wide, he backed toward the Shack. “That did _not_ just happen. Nope.” He stumbled through the door in some dazed denial.

 

No one noticed though. Stan was busy selling some overpriced shirts, Wendy was busy at the register, and Mabel--

Mabel was being quite the little sales gal.

~~~

 

“That puma shirt really brings out your eyes!” she gushed. And no, that shirt did not. But it was forty dollars.

“You really think so?” the tourist, a middle aged mother of four(far too loud and messy) children replied.

Mabel nodded, “Uh-huh. Purple is _so_ your color.”

The woman smiled and was moving toward the register.

But Mabel wasn't done, “Y'know what would go with that shirt perfectly?” Snatching a bag off the rack behind her, she put it on the counter. “This. It's practical too,” she demonstrated the _one_ pocket in the bag.

 

But everyone bows to Mabel's powers of 'adorable' eventually.

~~~

 

Stan was distracted from keeping an eye on the remaining tourists from the last tour when he heard Wendy say, “That'll be $130”

Looking toward the register, he saw the mother of the kid Dipper was out cleaning up after leaving the shop with a full bag. He also spotted Mabel grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

“Was that your work, kiddo?” he asked quietly.

Mabel grinned wider, “You better believe it!”

Affectionately ruffling her hair, Stan replied, “Ya got the makings of quite the salesperson, sweetie.”

Mabel said quietly, “M-mom always said it was the parrot wings. That I was born too adorable.”

Stan's heart clenched a little painfully at that, but he was happy at least one of the kids was talking about their parents. Healthy grieving and all that, right? “Well, she was right. It's your own little superpower.” Noticing that Dipper had returned, he asked, “Got that all cleaned up, kid?”

“Er, yeah, it's all gone,” Dipper said distractedly.

Stan nodded, “You found the hose, good.”

“Sure,” Dipper said, voice wavering.

 

 

As the day wore on, Dipper continued to bury and ignore what happened earlier. He had tried analyzing it, like he did most things that stressed him out in some way, but he didn't like the conclusions. So he ignored it. And actually did his job.

The gift shop had never been so clean.

 

Mabel kept up her sales streak. Somehow seeming to upsell more to the louder, messier, more pain in the butt tourists. When Stan finally questioned her about this, her only reply was, “Grunkle Stan! I am outraged at such accusations! I would _never_ use my adorableness for such purposes.”

 

Of course, she said this right after cajoling an annoying family of five into a two hundred dollar sale.

 

By the time three o'clock rolled around, there weren't too many customers anyways, so Stan just flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed”. “Kids, you ready to go?” Both twins just nodded, grinning. “Good. Wendy, go ahead and take the rest of the day off.”

Wendy squinted at Stan, muttering suspiciously,“...It's not April first already, is it?”

“No, now scram, I'm taking the kids to the movies for some family bonding type deal,” Stan said a little more sternly.

Wendy shrugged, and complied.

 

~~~`

 

When they got to the movies, the only thing they could all (somewhat) agree on was “Brave”. Stan sighed. Great, a kids movie. That'll be _fun._

Mabel, having heard the sigh, said, “Grunkle Stan, you'll love it! Merida kicks serious butt!”

“Sure sweetie, c'mon,” he replied, steering the kids directly into the movie theater, bypassing concessions entirely.

Dipper and Mabel both looked at the candy and soda forlornly.

 

As the trailers rolled, Mabel sighed, “All that's missing are snacks.” She glanced at Stan unsubtly.

Dipper joined in, “Yeah, sure would make it a perfect outing.”

Stan rolled his eyes,  _amateurs,_ “Kid, the stuff they have here costs an arm and a leg; also, it sucks.”

Both twins hung their heads in defeat.

“That's why,” Stan continued, “I brought these.” He fished three sodas, five candies, and a two bags of chips out of various pockets in his suit. 

“How--?” Dipper questioned, taking a soda. “Y'know what, I'm not even gonna ask.”

Mabel fluttered her wings happily at the sight of candy, “Thank you Grunkle Stan!”

“No problem kids,” Stan said as the movie started. 

 


	11. Isn't that cheating?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a mindless little chapter to celebrate a tiny break between tests (and apologies for inaccuracy--I had to dig up decade old memories for this chapter )

That weekend, Stan took the kids out to the yard and started teaching them the basics of self defense. Nothing dangerous, just enough that he'd worry less.

“Alright, the first thing to remember in a fight is--?” He questioned.

Dipper answered, “Run when you can?”

“Got that right. Don't risk what you don't have to,” Stan nodded. “And if running won't do, what else do you have to remember?”

“There's no such thing as a fair fight!” Mabel piped up.

Again, Stan nodded, “Exactly. Outside of a match with a referee, no one is about to play fair—so you play dirty first.”

“Grunkle Stan, isn't that cheating?” Dipper questioned.

“Kid, when no one is playing by any rules, how can ya' cheat?” Stan replied patiently. So maybe it was morally dubious. But anything looking to hurt a couple of twelve year olds wasn't worth 'playing by the rules' in his book anyways.

Dipper briefly thought back on some of the things he and Mabel had already encountered before answering, “Fair point, fair point.”

 

Picking up one of the training pads he'd bought earlier that week at the thrift store, Stan said, “Now to teach you two how to punch. Let's see ya make a fist.” Mabel did just fine the first try, but Dipper needed some help. “Curling your fingers around your thumb like that is a great way to break it. Here, like this--” he knelt down and gently corrected Dipper's form. Not like he hadn't done similar way back in the day.

“Alright,” he said, standing back up. “Now for actually punching. A good, solid punch isn't just your arm moving. Your whole body's gotta be in on the plan.” He demonstrated proper form slowly. “See? Everything rotates into it. Think of your body like a spring.”

“Grunkle Stan? Where'd _you_ learn this?” Mabel asked, copying Stan's motions.

“Eh, Pops signed me up for boxing lessons when I was a kid,” Stan shrugged, he wasn't exactly keen on discussing his past . “Dipper, don't drop your shoulder like that. Yeah. Better. _There_ ya go.” He smiled. “I think you two have the hang of it. Wanna try hitting this?” He raised his arm that had the practice pad on it.

“Yeah!” Mabel stepped up enthusiastically.

Kneeling down, Stan braced his other arm behind the pad. “Alright sweetie, tuck your wings back, and give it a go.” When Mabel's strike hit the pad, Stan was surprised with the force she had mustered. “That's, uh, that's quite a wallop ya got there.”

Dipper shrugged, “She probably imagined Gideon's face.”

“Yup!” Mabel confirmed. “I imagined putting a dent in his annoying, creepy face, and BAM!” She hit the pad again.

“Yeah, I can see that being pretty good motivation,” Stan chuckled awkwardly. _Jeez, I hope the kid doesn't have my temper. “_ Dipper, you're up. _”_

Dipper let out a nervous breath, checked his stance, tucked his wings awkwardly behind his back, and gave it his best.

“Y'know I'm not made of glass, right, kid?” Stan asked uncertainly.

“I gave it my best!” Dipper said defensively.

Stan held up a calming hand, “I never said ya didn't, Dipper. Just some people hold back in practice.” _Just like F--...no._ “There's nothin wrong with it.”

“Don't patronize me,” Dipper muttered angrily.

Stan raised an eyebrow, “ _Patronize_ you? Kid, you're _twelve”_

“And what's that supposed to mean?” Dipper questioned, glaring.

“It means try punching again,” Stan again braced his other arm behind the pad. This time, there was definite force, and something _extra_. He hoped for the kids sake that wasn't what he thought it was. “See?”

Mabel smiled, “I guess brobro is like the Hulk. He's just gotta get angry.”

“How about  _ not  _ comparing me to a giant green rage monster, sis?” Dipper winced.

“Eh, you're right, Dipping Sauce!” Mabel agreed. “You're too much of a nerd noodle for that!”

“Nerd....noodle...?” Dipper repeated disbelievingly.

Stan stood up slowly, doing his best to ignore his back, “Alright kids, c'mon; let's get lunch. You can call each other names later.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
